


Will We Be There for Each Other, Like Nobody Ever Could?

by MagicandMonsters



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: BAMF Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Person, Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Maxine "Max" Mayfield Needs a Hug, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 20:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20534180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicandMonsters/pseuds/MagicandMonsters
Summary: Max may be the one with “mad” tagged on to her name, but she damn well knows she isn’t the only one in the Hargrove-Mayfield family who’s angry.In which Max and Billy try to come to terms with their feelings and learn to trust each other.From mid-Season 2 on.





	1. Dinnertime

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since Season 3 came out, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, particularly about Billy and Max. I think they are both such incredible characters and I really wish they'd been given more screen time and character development, especially regarding their relationship. 
> 
> Basically, this story is me giving Max and Billy the attention they didn't get and exploring them as characters and the dynamic they have with each other. Max is a freaking BADASS who deserves way more love, and I really think there is a lot to be addressed with her that the show barely touches on. Obviously Billy is a different story, and I'm not trying to romanticize any of the abusive and violent things he's done on the show in writing about his redemption. But I am absolutely of the belief that people are fundamentally shaped by their trauma and their experiences and I think it is so interesting to really dig into that. So this is my take on Billy and Max as they exist in canon, because I absolutely love the idea of Billy and Max's relationship and what it would mean for both of them- I feel like they have some similar issues. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this-- I just wanted to share my take on these awesome characters. I'd love to hear what you think. 
> 
> Also: the title is a lyric from a John Mayer song called In the Blood. I've been listening to it on repeat and I think it really fits Billy and Max.

Max hates dinnertime. It’s when Neil and her mom try their hardest to pretend that everything is normal, that everyone loves each other, but it’s such bullshit that it makes Max want to throw up. She’s learned not to say much, to make meals as painless as possible, so Max quickly shovels pasta into her mouth, and she can tell that next to her, Billy is operating under the same logic.

  
“Max, honey, Billy tells us you’ve made some new friends! That’s so great.” The silence is broken, and Max shoots a look at Billy. What is he trying to do?  
“Yeah,” Max grunts, glaring at her brother as he winks obnoxiously. Then she gets it. Billy knows exactly how patronizing Max finds her mother’s comments about her social life. He knows exactly how much Max hates being treated like a child, how much she can’t stand having to answer to anyone. Max likes her freedom, and Billy knows it.

  
“Well, what are their names? What are they like? Come on, we want to hear all about them!” Max is under no illusion that anyone else at the table wants to hear even one thing about her new friends, nor does she want to talk about them. (Are they her friends? Lucas and Dustin are totally lame, Will is weirdly fragile, and Mike seems to hate her for some reason, but they’re better than nothing.) Neil is picking his teeth. Billy is smirking at her. But Max sees the wild hope in her mom’s eyes and decides to play along.

  
“They’re fine, Mom. They’re in my homeroom, and there’s Mike, Lucas, Will--“  
To Max’s surprise, Neil jerks his head up. “Your friends are boys, Maxine?”  
Max frowns. “Yeah, so what?” Her mom narrows her eyes at her. Be polite, Max. She steals a glance at Billy; he’s no longer smirking. Something has changed in the atmosphere, and Max feels anxiety bubbling in her stomach. What has she done wrong?

  
Neil laughs, a dry and unsettling chuckle. “You shouldn’t be hanging around with a bunch of teenage boys, Maxine. Boys only want one thing at that age, and just because you dress like one of them doesn’t mean they wouldn’t take you up, down, or sideways. I want you to find some girls to spend time with, understand?”

  
Max can hardly believe her ears. Neil has come close to saying these kinds of things before, when he’s drunk and her mom isn’t home, but never like this. Never so boldly, so clearly, so obviously aware of what he is saying and in control of his faculties. Anger is starting to bleed through her body, her face is flushing red. She’s clenching her fists, her jaw is twitching, and she’s about to tell Neil that he can shut the fuck up and she’ll hang around with whoever the hell she wants when something lands on her foot. It’s a boot. She barely stifles a gasp because it’s heavy, and she prepares to turn her anger on Billy. But out of the corner of her eye, she sees him determinedly chewing a pasta noodle, and they make eye contact. And Billy, ever so slightly, shakes his head.

  
Before Max knows what to do with this, her mother looks pleadingly at her husband, places a hand on his shoulder. “Come on Neil, I’m sure it isn’t anything like that. They’re so young, I’m sure they’re only playing.”

  
Max doesn’t even have time to take offense at her mother’s use of the juvenile “playing” because Neil laughs again, more harshly this time. He takes her mom’s hand off his shoulder and clasps it in his.

  
“Susan, I know you don’t want a slut for a daughter. I certainly don’t. Maxine needs to stop whoring around with these boys, and you will, won’t you Maxine?” His gaze snaps to her, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes catch briefly on her chest.

Disgust snakes through her stomach, with Neil, with herself, and all Max wants to do is run to her room, and bury herself under blankets until her body is invisible, until she is invisible. Tears burn their way up her throat and into her eyes, and she is too humiliated to do anything but look down at her plate and nod. In the back of her mind, Max is furious with herself for not standing up to him, not defending her honor. This scene is playing out too fast, and everyone else seems to know what to do, but Max does nothing. She just gets mad.

* * *

Billy drives her to school the next morning, as usual. Max is staring out the car window, watching absently as the school bus rolls by and she catches the eye of a girl from her math class. _Great, _she thinks grimly. _One of my new girl friends. _The girl smiles at her shyly, but Max feels frustration building inside her again and huffs.

She crosses her arms over her chest. Max has been pretending since last night that what Neil said didn’t bother her, but all the same, she’s wearing her most bland grey t-shirt and her baggiest pair of jeans. She barely bothered to brush her hair. When she looked in the mirror this morning, all she could think about was Neil’s chant of “up, down, or sideways”, and she has to take several deep breaths to keep herself from punching something.

Apparently Billy notices Max’s bad mood—not that she’s usually in a good one during these morning drives—and speaks up. “Jesus Christ Max, what’s with the outfit? You look like you’re wearing a fucking sack.” He smirks a little, like he usually does when he makes fun of her, but Max notices that he seems distracted. His heart’s not really in it, she thinks sarcastically.

“Why do you care, Billy?” Max mutters. “Leave me alone.” They haven’t talked about what happened last night—_why would they, it’s not like Billy talks to her about **anything**—_about Neil’s comments and Billy’s warning (because, Max had reasoned in bed, that must have been what it was). The thing is, as much as Max wants to know what Billy had been thinking, she’s a little scared of the answer. At least this way, she can let herself pretend he was doing it for her.

Billy bites down on his cigarette, chews it for a moment. “Listen, you little shit, has my gentleman of a father said that kinda stuff to you before? About being a slut and everything?” He doesn’t look at her as he talks. Max, however, stares. Is this an expression of concern? If so, she has absolutely no idea what to do with it.

“Why?” Max asks suspiciously. Billy grunts.

“Just answer the question, shitface.”

“Only when he’s drunk.” Max gives a short answer, curious to see what Billy’s reaction will be, but he gives nothing away.

“He touch you?”

This really throws Max, and she feels a pang of revulsion in her gut, because first of all, the very thought makes her want to scream, but second of all, because _why is God’s name is Billy asking her all these questions?_

Without meaning to, Max skims over her memories, over those nights in her room and Neil’s drunken slurs, the way he grabs her hands and kisses her forehead for a second too long, the one time he comes a little too close to touching her ass.

“Not really.”

Billy finally turns his head to look at her, which would have made Max nervous about his eyes not being on the road if not for the fact that she’s seen Billy drive with much less focus. Billy has a lot of flaws, but Max has to admit—he’s a damn good driver. His hard eyes narrow and Max squirms a little, until he finally looks away.

“Look, I just gotta know if this is another thing I have to ride your stupid ass about, okay Maxine, cause I really have better things to do than convincing my dad that you’re not whoring yourself out on my watch. Don’t go thinking I care, cause I couldn’t give less of a shit.”

Max opens her mouth, furious that Billy has somehow succeeded in making her feel embarrassed about daring to hope for that exact thing. “I didn’t—“

Before she can defend herself, assure her asshole of a brother that she is no longer under any illusion that he possesses even one ounce of concern for her, Billy cuts her off. “And another thing, that’s the first and last time I’m gonna stop you from opening your mouth when my dad goes off like that. Don’t be stupid, keep your mouth shut, or it’ll be worse for you. You’re on your own from now on.”

Billy stomps on the gas, and they swerve into the parking lot of Hawkins Middle. He flashes her a mocking grin. “Now get out of my car.”

Max, her eyes stinging a little with the full weight of this conversation, slams the door shut.


	2. The Wreckage of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Billy swings his legs out of the car, and right before he ducks out, he turns around and stares at Max again. He fixes her with a look that is so unlike Billy, so normal and stripped of bravado and rage, that Max almost says something, but then it’s gone and Billy narrows his eyes.  
“Let’s go.”  
So Max follows, her heart pounding, but she doesn’t say a word."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the support so far! I'm so glad people seem to like what I've written and think I've done an okay job with characterization--I'm really trying to make everyone as true to their characters in the show as I can. Thanks again for reading, and let me know what you think!

It’s the night El closes the gate that Max realizes just how fucking confusing her brother is.

The drive home from the Byers’ is filled with tense silence. Now that the adrenaline from this _absolutely insane _night is starting to wear off, Max feels a little silly for threatening her older brother with a baseball bat, because realistically, what is that going to fix?

Max remembers Billy barging into the Byers’ house, advancing on her and talked about disobeying like he owns her. She remembers him charging at Lucas and shattering a plate over Steve’s head, and she remembers the haze of adrenaline that makes her snatch up that syringe and jam it into her brother’s neck. Now, as Billy’s car roars along the road and the reality of the night’s potential consequences starts to come into focus, Max realizes that sticking a needle into Billy’s neck is probably not the smartest thing she’s ever done. But even though the details of her thought process are fuzzy, her anger is still crystal clear. She is _done _with being bullied by her brother.

Max isn’t stupid, she knows Billy is gonna do what Billy wants to do, and a baseball bat with spikes nailed into it isn’t gonna stop him. But Max had seen Mike’s face when she slammed the bat between Billy’s legs, like maybe he finally respected her, seen the looks of admiration in the eyes of Lucas and Dustin, noticed how Steve backed off a little from telling her what to do. And as much as Max feels kind of dumb for threatening Billy like that, part of her also feels a little powerful.

Billy, for his part, isn’t saying anything. He’s gripping the steering wheel with incredible ferocity and Max is honestly a little worried that he’s going to rip it out of the dashboard. They’ve barely spoken since he woke up from the sedative: when Steve drove them all back to the house from the tunnels, they’d found Billy pacing on the porch, slamming his knuckles into the walls. Hopper had already radioed Mike to let them know that El closed the gate and the danger had passed, so Max hadn’t been able to find a good enough reason to have to stay with her friends, even though she thought she might burst into tears if she left them. They barely had time to celebrate their collective victory (by clinking together paper cups of apple juice from the Byers’ under-stocked fridge) before Billy had stormed in, jerking his thumb toward the car and informing her, in a voice that left no room for discussion, that they were going home. So Max had made the rounds—let Lucas give her a quick hug, fist bumped Dustin, accepted Mike’s reluctant handshake and pretended she didn’t care when he said “I guess you’re okay, MadMax.” She’d even smiled when Steve messed up her hair and drily complimented her on her reckless but effective driving, and gave everyone a final wave before climbing into the passenger seat of Billy’s car.

Now, part of her wants to talk, to ask Billy if he’s okay, because as much as he’s a _total psycho dickhead who tried to attack her friends_, he’s still her brother, and she’s not completely sure he should be driving after being forcibly knocked out with almost an entire syringe full of sedative. But Billy has a look in his eyes that, for all her bat-wielding bravado, scares her a little, so Max stays quiet. _Keep your mouth shut, or it’ll be worse for you. _She thinks bitterly back to Billy’s advice about Neil, and wonders if he knows that sometimes, it applies to him too.

When they pull up to the house after what seems like eons of driving, Max immediately makes to open the car door and leap out of the passenger seat, to bolt to her room and lie down and force herself to stop shaking with the memories of flower petal heads and slimy tails, but Billy grabs her arm.

“Hey, Max.” His voice is a strange mix of urgent and languid and it makes her so uneasy that instead of rolling her eyes like she usually would, Max turns her head to listen. The fingers that aren’t wrapped around her arm are drumming on the steering wheel, and he’s bouncing his leg up and down. Max waits, and she starts to feel a little bit sick because this is her brother, her brother who has been nothing but an asshole to her and who tried to beat her new friends’ faces in and whose neck she shoved a fucking needle in and suddenly she is acutely aware of how dangerous Billy Hargrove is. This is it, this is going to be Billy’s revenge, and for a second Max wonders if even after a night of slaying beasts and exploring toxic tunnels, she is going to die at the hands of an angry teenage boy.

But Billy just stares at her, looking for something that Max doesn’t have the energy to try and figure out. Finally, he sighs and drops her wrist, and Max blinks, because _what the fuck? _She’s just come back from fighting creatures from another dimension, she almost _died, _and that should be more than enough weirdness for the day. But Billy’s eyes are flashing and his jaw is set and Max has a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that’s almost worse than having a demogorgon try to eat her.

Almost. Those things are pretty scary.

Billy swings his legs out of the car, and right before he ducks out, he turns around and stares at Max again. He fixes her with a look that is so unlike Billy, so _normal _and stripped of bravado and rage, that Max almost says something, but then it’s gone and Billy narrows his eyes.

“Let’s go.”

So Max follows, her heart pounding, but she doesn’t say a word.

* * *

Billy eases the door shut behind them, clearly in the desperate hope that their parents are asleep and won’t hear. No such luck—Max’s stomach immediately plummets all the way down to her filthy sneakers when she sees Neil leaning in the living room doorframe with his arms crossed. Max’s mom is sitting on the sofa behind him, her hands clasped and looking unbelievably frail. She bolts up instantly upon seeing Max, and she tenses as her mother wraps her in a hug.

“Oh Max, where have you been? We were so worried, sweetie, you can’t just leave on your own like that!” Max awkwardly pats her mother’s back as she talks, rolling her eyes slightly because _as if she would have been any better off with her mom and Neil around helping fight the demogorgons. _

Neil advances on them, ignoring his wife’s soft cries and shooting a look at Max that despite her bravado makes her want to crawl into herself. “And what in God’s name happened to you?”

Max has completely forgotten how completely insane she must look—her hair is matted with sweat and her clothes are crusted with a mixture of caked dirt and Upside Down-slime. Her left knee has bled through her jeans from when she tripped on a vine in the tunnels, and suddenly she is aware of the dried liquid streaked across her face. _Blood, _she thinks grimly, although so many people have bled tonight that she doesn’t know who it belongs to.

As she stares right back into Neil’s eyes, Max realizes that she has come up with no excuse, no explanation, because apparently even after everything that’s happened tonight— fighting monsters and death and even Billy, she’s too much of an idiot to remember that these aren’t normal ways to spend an evening. And of course Neil, the king of pretending to be a normal, perfect family, is going to notice and freak out and demand a play by play of events before he’s satisfied. He takes another step towards her, and suddenly Max is so incredibly tired—she shouldn’t have to deal with this after the night she’s had. Her head is still spinning, and she sees flashes of rotting faces and vines with minds of their own, still feels the warmth of Lucas’s hand in hers and remembers how she stumbled when Steve pushed her out of the demogorgon’s path. In one night, Max has somehow become closer with all of these people that she thinks she’s ever been with anyone. Shared trauma, Will’s brother had said. Apparently that shit really bonds you. _Who would’ve thought. _

“I asked you a question, Maxine. Explain yourself.”

Max shoves down her anxiety and plants her feet, decides she will _not _be afraid of this sorry excuse for a step-father, and she will _not _explain herself to a man who has no idea what she’s just gone through. She finds herself thinking (maybe a little too longingly) of Will’s mom, and Chief Hopper, and even Steve, and the way the didn’t waste any time with pointless reprimands or stupid questions and didn’t hesitate to protect her. God, so many people have stepped up for her tonight, and none of them are in this house. Max is horrified to feel a hot ball of tears forming in her throat. She clenches her teeth and painfully swallows it down, because she will not let Neil Hargrove think he has the power to make her cry.

So Max opens her mouth, ready to concoct a bullshit story about building a fort with her friends and falling out of a tree that she knows no one in their right mind would ever believe, but before she can say anything, Billy grunts.

“She was with her nerdy little friends. I found her at one of their houses, playing some stupid game or something, I don’t know. But I brought her back, and that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? So can I go to sleep now?” Billy almost looks bored, his stance easy and relaxed, and he’s absently fingering the hem of his leather jacket. Max tenses, waiting for a response, for Neil to explode, but he doesn’t, just scoffs.

“’Can I go to sleep now?’” Neil mocks, and for some reason it makes Max want to sock him in the face. “No Billy, you cannot go to sleep now, because it’s 1 o’fucking clock in the morning and you show up with your sister looking like she went gallivanting through the sewers after _you _let her leave the house and somehow you don’t see a problem with that!”

And that’s enough for Max, because Neil is talking about her like she’s the family dog and she’s not gonna take that. “He didn’t _let me _do anything.” She growls, folding her arms, and now she can’t ignore the pang of worry that rings through her chest when Neil raises his eyebrows at her.

“Be quiet, Maxine, I’m talking to your brother and you’re interrupting me.” And Max can barely control the urge to scream because she is so fucking tired of being an interruption. She is _not _the waste of space that Neil pretends she is, not the selfish little brat Billy says she acts like, not the weak little girl her mother treats her as. She fought a fucking monster tonight and if only she could tell a single person in this goddamn house that she is a warrior and they can all shut up and leave her alone—

So Max narrows her eyes at Neil and ignores the quiet whispers of her mother, because no, she will _not _be quiet.

“No, I’m tired of everyone in this house being on my ass all the time and trying to control me when you don’t even know _anything _about what’s going on! You don’t _own _me, I’m not some little pet that you get to keep on a leash, and you can stop sending Billy out after me all the time like I’m some criminal on house arrest! I can take care of myself, and it’s not like any of you ever do anything anyway, Jesus Christ—“

Max is fired up now, full of blinding rage that makes her vision shake and glitch and drowns out the fear she should feel at the fact that Neil has made his way across the room and backed her against the door, towering over her with his hands braced above her head. Max knows this isn’t good, and common sense tells her that she is totally screwed, but for some reason she feels like she could keep going, could keep standing up for herself, because apparently this is just the night of suicidal behavior, and fuck it, Max is all in. But suddenly she’s on the floor and Billy is staring down at her with a twisted mocking smile that dramatically contradicts the darkness in his eyes.

“Nice speech, Maxine,” he says easily, grinning down at her, and he almost sounds like he’s joking, but all the conversations in this house move too fast for Max to keep up if she stops to think about them and sure enough, Billy has now taken Max’s place against the door, and Neil has his hands on Billy’s shoulders.

“Did you just _push _your sister, Billy? Is that what just happened?” Neil seems to swell with the words, like his demonstration of authority gives him extra body weight, and suddenly Max feels sick. _Why did Billy push me?_ He has to know that it will only infuriate Neil further, will only cause more problems, and _Jesus Christ,_ _can’t everyone just leave me alone? Why does Billy have to make everything a hundred times more difficult? _

“I don’t know, what do you think?” Billy spits at his father, and Max still can’t wrap her mind around the uncomfortable blend of sarcasm and malice that accompanies his obnoxious grin.

“Yeah, you did and I’ll kill you for it later.” Max spits at Billy, heart pounding out of her ears. She’s finally catching up, and she needs to make it clear that no one is going to knock her down, especially not in her own house.

Neil slowly turns around to look at her, keeping one hand pressed against Billy’s chest. For a minute Max is overtaken with actual terror and can’t help thinking that this is what Dustin’s cat must have felt like right before Dart ate him. Her throat is dry and every swallow feels like an admittance of weakness, but Max lifts her chin and holds his gaze. _Let Neil Hargrove do his worst. _

Neil whips around and roughly drops his hand. “You know what, it’s too late for this. You are both disrespectful and disobedient and I’m telling you now, I’m just about done with it. You’re lucky I’m too tired to deal with you tonight.”

He throws Billy one last look, the anger and disdain palpable even from her spot on the ground, before holding his hand out to Max’s mom, who takes it and rises off the arm of the couch she’s settled on. As Neil leads her to their bedroom, she turns her head and says goodnight, and Max offers a vague smile even though she really feels like rolling her eyes because _how can her own mother be so pathetic? _

Once they’re gone, Max looks down and realizes she’s still on the floor. Her heart is racing, and she’s embarrassed at how often she has to swallow to soothe her dry throat. She glances down at the scrape on her wrist from when she’d fallen at the junkyard, and although she still feels the remnants of fear, from that and everything that’s happened since, Max can’t help but feel a little bit like a badass. _Take that, El. See, I’m not as lame as you thought. _

Max is about to drag herself up off the ground and lie down for what she thinks is some well deserved sleep when a hand appears in front of her face. She flinches a little bit, because she’s been running on adrenaline for hours now and she’s just now coming down from it. Max had almost forgotten about Billy, and now she looks up and sees him staring down at her with his hand outstretched. _What the—_

Max doesn’t dare believe that this is any sort of peace gesture, not after all the times Billy has pounded into her head that he doesn’t give a shit about her, but all the same, her legs are exhausted from all the running she’s done tonight and she doesn’t want to make Billy any madder, so she takes his hand. Without saying anything, he jerks her to her feet, so quickly that she almost stumbles.

“Thanks,“ Max says quietly, but Billy is already walking towards his room, and then he slams the door, the sound echoing in Max’s head as she is left alone with the wreckage of the night.


	3. Midnight Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They look at each other for a minute and maybe it’s the fact that it’s the middle of the night, that they’re exhausted, that Max fucking knocked him out or that he went all Neil on her ass, but it’s the first time in a long time that they’ve been in the same room without immediately jumping down each other’s throats. Max looks really fucking young in the moonlight: she’s pale, freckles standing out, and for a moment Billy is overcome with a memory of being five, jolting awake from a nightmare and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror before going to wake up his mom. He thinks, if he can even remember that far back, he may have had the same expression on his face that Max has now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry about the long gap between updates, but I have so appreciated seeing all of your amazing comments- they really mean a lot to me. I'm doing the best I can with the Billy and Max relationship, and I'm so glad it seems to be coming across well. This chapter is from Billy's point of view, and for me he's a lot harder to write that Max. I hope I did an okay job and it feels enough like Billy's voice. Let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestions for moments you'd like to see between Billy and Max, feel free to leave those too. No guarantees, but I'm totally open to suggestions!
> 
> Also: there's a lot of cursing and f - bombs in this chapter, because it's Billy so of course there is.

Billy has never been a good sleeper.

He can fall asleep easily enough (because he’s always exhausted for some reason, no matter how early he goes to bed) but he wakes up during the night, sometimes five or six times. He gets restless and hot and his stomach twists like it’s waiting for something, and no matter how many deep breaths he takes, his body just won’t seem to relax. It’s so fucking _annoying _that sometimes Billy sneaks into his dad’s bedroom when no one’s home and snags a couple of Susan’s sleeping pills from her bedside table, which have to be carefully rationed out until he can risk grabbing a few more.

Tonight is no different. He doesn’t even fall asleep until two— by the time he’s calmed down from the evening’s events, it’s already 1:45 and he barely has the energy to peel off his jeans and collapse onto his bed. He doesn’t bother brushing his teeth or even taking a shower because he doesn’t want to risk seeing Max on the way to the bathroom, so he falls asleep with blood under his nose and in the corner of his mouth, and a bruise forming on his cheek where Harrington cracked him. Billy doesn’t really care.

When his eyes open again, the digital clock across the room reads 3:37, and by 3:41 Billy has a headache from staring at the glowing red light. He grunts, rolls over, and tries to think about anything but Max’s defiant expression when she stares up at Neil, the Sinclair kid’s terrified face as he shoves him against the wall, or waking up alone to the sight of crayon drawings winding a path across the ceiling and walls.

It’s 4:19 when Billy twitches awake from an unsettling dream in which the Hawkins High baseball team lands runs with spiked bats. He grinds his teeth because he hasn’t even slept for an hour this time_, _and now he can’t shake the image of Max standing over him bat in hand, threatening him with a ferocity Billy knows only too well because it’s the kind that comes from fear. He kicks the covers off, steps over the leather jacked pooled next to his bed and emerges from his room. What he really needs is a beer, but a glass of water is going to have to suffice.

Billy almost has a heart attack when he sees the figure at the window, one hand pulling away the curtain and the other clenched in a fist at her side. Of course it’s Max, sweatpants coming down over her heels and hair sticking up like someone rubbed a balloon on her head. She clearly hasn’t heard him and for a brief moment Billy considers sneaking up behind her and flicking her head into the window, but his mind inadvertently goes to her slumped figure on the floor after he pushed her and he decides against it. Besides, the little drama queen would probably scream and wake their parents, and the last thing Billy’s sleep schedule needs right now is Neil Hargrove.

As he realizes a conversation with Max is in the inevitable future, Billy barely suppresses a groan, because it’s exactly what he’s been hoping to avoid after the shitshow of a night they’ve just spent together. He wonders if he should just turn around and try to go back to his room without Max noticing, but it’s his own fucking house and he is NOT going to hide from a 13 year old. No fucking way.

Billy makes a point to tread heavily when he starts moving again—if he has to have a midnight chat with his bitchass little sister it’s sure as hell gonna be on his terms—and sure enough, Max jumps at the sound and whips around, hands stretched out in front of her face. She looks so ridiculous that Billy almost laughs, almost relishes in the intoxicating control of being able to make someone else look like that, but there’s something distinctly not funny about the way she’s biting her lip and the rigid posture that doesn’t fade away after she processes the situation. Max is really, genuinely, fucking _scared. _

And Billy knows fear. He knows the embarrassment it brings when it demands to be felt, knows the unsettling feeling of his body acting of its own accord no matter how hard he tries to control it. And here is Max staring at him, jaw clenched and hair wild, lit up by the moon behind her, letting her hands drop to her sides and pretending she isn’t afraid.

Billy doesn’t know how to respond to this—he’s vaguely aware that a better brother would ask what she’s afraid of, assure her of their safety, comfort her with meaningless guarantees of protection, but the truth is that Billy is not a better brother. In fact, he’s barely a brother at all.

They look at each other for a minute and maybe it’s the fact that it’s the middle of the night, that they’re exhausted, that Max fucking knocked him out or that he went all Neil on her ass, but it’s the first time in a long time that they’ve been in the same room without immediately jumping down each other’s throats. Max looks really fucking _young_ in the moonlight: she’s pale, freckles standing out, and for a moment Billy is overcome with a memory of being five, jolting awake from a nightmare and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror before going to wake up his mom. He thinks, if he can even remember that far back, he may have had the same expression on his face that Max has now.

“What are you doing?” Max finally asks, and it’s such a dumb question, so deprived of her usual accusatory tone, that Billy can tell Max doesn’t know how to deal with this encounter any better than he does.

“Getting some water, shitbag. Got a problem?” It comes out dull and flat and there’s no real bite behind it, but insults and banter are easy even if they don’t come from the heart and Billy is too tired to care about being a jerk to Max. Too tired to remember how much he hates being responsible for her, too tired to keep track of the meticulous justifications he’s crafted in the back of his mind for his honestly unforgiveable treatment of a kid who reminds him too much of himself.

“No,” Max says defiantly, crossing her arms.

“Terrific,” Billy says, filling up his cup with water from the sink. There’s something that needs to be said here, something that will snap them out of this dreamlike interaction and bring them back to the real world. He can feel the pressure expanding across the living room, can feel the palpable anticipation from Max, and if only he wasn’t so _tired _he could figure what to say.

But Max is staring at him expectantly and she’s biting the corner of her mouth the way she does when she has something to get out, and Billy knows from experience that if Max gets talking she’s gonna have questions and accusations and criticisms and he’s just not up for that.

“So, you gonna tell me what you were doing with Harrington?” It’s a distraction, but he’s also genuinely curious, because as much as he can’t see perfect little Steve Harrington being a perv, there’s definitely something weird about him hiding four middle school kids in a house that’s barricaded more heavily than it has any right to be.

Max grunts. “None of your business,” she says, plopping down in Neil’s armchair. Neither of them are allowed to sit it in, at least not when Neil’s around. _It’s for the man of the house, _he says to Susan and Max, when the chair arrives at the house, a slimy smile across his face. _My throne, if you will. _Susan had giggled at that. Billy’s never actually seen Max sit in it—which doesn’t mean she hasn’t of course, knowing Max. Is this another assertion of power? _Jesus, the little fucker already knocked me unconscious, isn’t that enough?_

“I think it is my business,” Billy replies calmly, seating himself on the sofa across from her. “Considering you fucking stuck a needle in my neck.”

Max shifts uncomfortably. “Okay, that might have been a little much, but you were attacking Steve! You went crazy! You weren’t gonna stop unless I did something so I did what I had to do. I’m not apologizing for it.” She tilts her chin up the same way she did just hours before when Neil was yelling at her, and despite himself, Billy smirks, because _damn, the kid never quits. _

“So don’t,” he says, taking a sip of water. If he’s honest with himself, Billy doesn’t feel good about what he did to Harrington, or the Sinclair kid for that matter. There are a lot of things Billy doesn’t feel good about, but it never does him any good to think about them, so why start now?

“Look, I don’t give a shit about your morals and heroism, Max. Just tell me what you were doing.”

Max blinks. “I said no.”

Billy can feel the heat starting to burn in his head, behind his eyes, because it’s now it’s about power. It’s _his ass _on the line when Max goes rogue and he’s fucking sick of taking the heat if she’s gonna be an ungrateful little bitch about it.

He slams his water glass down and it’s honestly a miracle it doesn’t shatter, but water splashes out of it and onto the floor. He’s up in about a second, closing the distance between the recliner and the sofa to get to Max, to show her who’s fucking in charge and that she doesn’t get to just yank him around like this. He puts his hands on the arms of the chair and leans in close to her face, because he’s not afraid of her, he isn’t afraid of anything and he’s not a fucking pussy, but just as he’s about to hiss a threat into her ear he sees movement and Max has drawn her knees up to her chest and thrown an arm in front of her face.

Billy jerks back, because where’s the Max who sits there stonily when he yells at her not to be late? This is the second time tonight he’s seen Max look scared and as much as he constantly wants to strangle the little monster, this vulnerability isn’t natural. In fact, it makes her much, _much, _harder to intimidate.

For a moment they’re frozen, faces close together, and Billy can see her bright blue eyes over the silhouette of her forearm. There’s still anger pounding in his ears and he wants to fucking punch something (or someone) for the second time tonight, but somehow, unlike before, he’s thinking clearly enough to see that Max doesn’t really look like she needs to be taught who’s in charge.

He straightens up and Max immediately drops her arm. She’s embarrassed, Billy can tell—her head is down and she’s not looking at him. And even though maybe after all the damage he’s caused tonight, Billy should feel good about refraining from bullying another kid, he feels a little sick at the fact that he just backed down from a fight. He just can’t look at Max anymore.

“Go to bed, Max,” he says, and maybe it’s because he’s slept all of about three hours in the past twenty four, but it comes out a lot gentler than he intends. _Am I going soft? _

Max looks up at him and Billy swears there are tears in her eyes. _What the fuck happened last night?_ Again, Billy is frozen with the infinite possibilities of where to go from here. If he were a better brother, a better _person, _there might be hugs and soothing words and warmth and—

But Billy knows, oh_ God_ does he know_, _that he is not a better brother, not a better person. So he downs the rest of his water, rinses the glass in the sink, and walks back to his room, leaving Max curled up in Neil’s recliner wiping away tears with her fists.


	4. Cold Weather and Coffee Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For a second, Max smirks, because the look of genuine annoyance and frustration on Billy’s face is priceless and more than suitable payback for the comment about her sweater, but her delight is short lived. Neil slams his own coffee mug onto the table and stands up, and all of a sudden, it isn’t so funny anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> First of all, I'm so sorry about the long break between updates. I've got a lot going on, between school, work, and personal stuff, so I've been a little short on time. I can't promise more frequent updates, but I am still working on this story! Thank you so much to everyone who has read and supported this, especially everyone who has left me comments. Sometimes I still can't get over the fact that people are actually reading and liking my writing! 
> 
> I hope everyone is doing well, and please let me know what you think of the story so far!

_Shit, Hawkins is cold._

Max had lived in California her whole life before Hawkins, where there was barely even a winter at all and she’d never really needed more than a light jacket or sweatshirt even on the coldest days. But now, lying in bed at 7 am on a windy Wednesday morning, Max is actually shivering.

She rolls over, drawing the blankets around her. She’ll have to ask her mom for an extra one, because this is ridiculous. And, from what Lucas tells her, it gets even worse when the snow starts. _Great. _

Someone is thudding around in the hallway, and Max immediately knows it’s Billy. Her mom makes about as much noise as a mouse, and Neil has an eerie way of sneaking up on people, which only leaves one person. Max groans. For some reason, Neil has decided that it should be Billy’s job to get Max up for school in the morning, an arrangement that neither of them particularly care for. Max doesn’t like mornings and she definitely doesn’t like Billy, so both at once are almost unbearable. And maybe it would make things easier if she were already out of bed by the time Billy shows up, but it’s so cold and Max is so comfortable that she’s going to take every last second of peace she can, even if she pays for it later.

And she does. Max is just starting to drift back into sleep when her blankets are yanked off. She reflexively curls into a ball, trying to savor as much warmth as possible, and opens her eyes to see Billy sneering at her. 

“What the _hell, _Billy?” Max yells, because she _really_isn’t a morning person and that means Billy is pissing her off even more than usual. Last week, when she’d slept over in Mike’s basement with Lucas and Dustin, the boys had decided to wake her up by banging a frying ban in her face. Max had yelled so loudly that Mike’s mom had poked her head in and asked what was the matter and Lucas had brought her _two _of his mom’s homemade brownies in school the next day by way of apology (okay, so Max hadn’t really been _that _mad, but the extra brownie was a nice treat).

Billy, however, is much less difficult to scare than Lucas, and in response to her yelling he just raises his eyebrows and whips the pillow out from under her head.

“Get up, twerp,” he drawls. “I don’t have time for your shit.”

Max rolls her eyes and grabs her blanket back. “You’re not my mom, Billy. Go away, don’t you need to spend hours doing your stupid hair or something?”

Infuriatingly, Billy snatches her arm and hauls her back up into a sitting position. “Yeah well, I don’t see your mom in here waking you up, Maxine, so you’re stuck with me. Now if you don’t get out of bed Neil’s gonna be on my case and I ain’t dealing with that, so—“ he yanks on her arm so that Max stumbles to her feet—“get. Up.”

He storms out of the room, and Max can hear his door slam. Her heart is pounding. It’s been about three weeks since D-Day, as the party calls it, three weeks since El and the demogorgons and the craziest night of her life, and Max is _still _on edge. Loud noises still make her jump because they remind her of the demogorgon’s horrible screech. She hates being alone, now that she knows what’s out there, and she used to absolutely cherish time by herself. And Max knows she’s loud and brash and aggressive but ever since that night she’s felt like everything is going too fast for her to keep up with, like she’s been running away from something that never takes a break. She’s a little quicker to snap at people, a little quicker to yell, and the intensity has been turned up just a little. It’s exhausting.

And then there’s Billy. Ever since that night, since their standoff in the living room at four in the morning, Max swears he’s been just the slightest bit nicer to her. He’s still asshole Billy, either pretending she’s nothing more than a particularly irritating piece of lint or swearing his mouth off at her, but he doesn’t get in her face anymore, doesn’t get all quiet and intense and scary. It’s a little embarrassing, actually, that she’d let Billy _scare _her that night, let him see her cry, and Max doesn’t miss the irony in the fact that it was her weakness rather than her strength that made Billy back off. She’d gone from feeling like a bat-wielding badass to a pathetic crybaby in a matter of hours, and it was kind of humiliating to know that her fear had more of an effect on people than her attempts at intimidation.

Not that Max talks to Billy very much anyway, partly because he doesn’t talk to _her_and partly because she’s still furious with him about the way he treated Lucas that night, and about how he almost killed Steve. Max has apologized to both of them over and over, because it was _her _stepbrother who’d hurt them, but Lucas just squeezes her hand and tells her it’s okay, and Steve waves her off and points at his still healing face, bragging almost convincingly about how cool it makes him look. 

_All in all, things could be worse. _Max crosses her arms over her chest and trudges to her closet, putting on a pair of jeans and searching for something other than a t-shirt, something that will keep her suitably warm. Of course, all she can find is a white sweater her mom had gotten her for Christmas last year—it has a kitten embroidered on the front, playing with a ball of yarn, and honestly, Max almost decides that being warm isn’t worth it. The party will _never _let her live this down.

* * *

When she walks into the kitchen, ready to make toast as quickly as she can in order to minimize the duration of her morning dose of Neil, Billy is banging around the cupboards making cereal. Max can tell by the defiant slouch of his shoulders that he’s making noise on purpose to irritate Neil, and it’s working—her stepfather is clearly trying his best to focus on the newspaper, but his jaw is twitching and Max can’t help but snicker.

She brushes past Billy and heads for the breadbox, but he throws out an arm to stop her. “Am I dreaming, or is that tough little Max Mayfield in a _kitty-cat _sweater?”

Any shred of solidarity Max might have felt with her brother a moment ago is gone, and she ducks under his arm, flipping him off once she’s on the other side of him so Neil won’t be able to see. As Billy turns back to his cereal, Max sees him flash his stupid shit-eating grin, so as Billy moves to pour the milk into the bowl, she jostles his arm. The milk spills onto the counter and Billy jerks back, swearing as he knocks into his cup of coffee and it falls on the ground.

For a second, Max smirks, because the look of genuine annoyance and frustration on Billy’s face is priceless and more than suitable payback for the comment about her sweater, but her delight is short lived. Neil slams his own coffee mug onto the table and stands up, and all of a sudden, it isn’t so funny anymore.

“Billy, I _swear _to God!” Neil growls, and it’s embarrassing, humiliating, shameful beyond words, but Max backs up a little. It’s Neil, just lame old Neil, and _she’s _not even the one he’s mad at, but Max can’t help it.

Billy is standing still beside her, and as Neil approaches them, Max notices that Billy doesn’t seem afraid at all. He’s a little tense, but he’s looking Neil dead in the eye, and it’s this display of what’s either bravery or genuine indifference that pushes Max to step forward and speak, just to prove she can. Because if Billy isn’t scared, then she shouldn’t be either.

“It was my fault, Neil, I pushed him. Sorry.” The words come out sounding small, and Max wants to kick herself. What she really wants to say is _Calm down Neil, it’s just a coffee cup, and it’s 7:30 in the morning and too early for you to have an aneurism over it, you psycho._

Neil stares for a minute, maybe confused about where to turn his anger. He glares at Billy, actually _glares_at him, and Max recoils because she’s never seen a parent look at a child—much less their _own _child—with so much disdain, but apparently Neil decides that the broken mug really _is _Max’s fault and takes a step toward her.

“What have I told you about messing around in the house, Max? This is what happens when you don’t listen. Things get broken.” Max bites her lip, and suddenly she is back in the Byers’ house, Billy towering over her. _You know what happens when you disobey me. I break things. _

Billy is still beside her, not moving. _Come on Max, don’t let stupid Neil scare you. _She pretends she’s Billy, pissed off and unafraid. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

But she’s unprepared for what Neil does next, because in what seems like the blink of an eye, he’s in her face, shoving a finger into her chest. “I know you won’t. Now answer my question Maxine, what have I told you? I want to hear it from you.”

And Max feels like she’s fallen down a flight of stairs she’s been climbing forever, because she is back, drowning in that paralyzing fear that makes her feel like she’s choking. She’s on a bus, a demodog’s face inches from her own, watching Lucas get thrown against a wall, running so fast she thinks she might be sick through a tunnel that still haunts her dreams. And Neil, _fucking _Neil, with his creepy mustache and dangerous glare, is standing in front of her, and Max doesn’t know what to do.

She blinks, because she _will not _repeat Neil’s words back to him, and then she squeezes her eyes shut because as pathetic as it is, something about feeling this desperate in her own home is scaring her more than she could have imagined. _Come on Max, get it together. Say something. _

She’s still at a loss, searching for something clever or sarcastic to show Neil that he can’t scare her into compliance, but then Neil’s finger is gone and when she opens her eyes, she’s staring at the back of a leather jacket.

“We’re gonna be late for school, Neil,” Billy says evenly. “She’ll clean up the kitchen when we get home.” He turns around and gives Max a little shove in the direction of the door, and any other time Max would give him hell for it but she just doesn’t have the energy.

Max doesn’t even turn around to see Neil’s reaction, because it all happens so fast. She grabs her backpack from where she’d left it by the door and tucks her skateboard under her arm, and then she’s outside, Billy’s keys jingling as he slams the door behind them.


	5. Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And Max has no one. She’s all alone in her freezing cold house without enough blankets and all she has is a stepbrother who switches moods so quickly it gives her whiplash.  
And the worst part, the very worst part of it all, is that with every vague hint of kindness Billy shows her, Max’s desperation builds, no matter how much she tries to ignore it. Because now that she’s seen glimpses of it, Max wants someone to care about her. And beyond all reason, even though he sucks and is a bully and an asshole who beat up her friend, she thinks she kind of wants it to be Billy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, 
> 
> Thank you so incredibly much to anyone who is still following/still remembers this story even though it's been two months since I've updated. I really, really appreciate it.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're all doing well and I hope you enjoy this chapter! As always, please let me know what you think; it really means a lot to me.

By the time Max closes the door of the Camaro, her breathing has sped up and her heart is racing even faster. Billy doesn’t miss a beat, quickly turning the key and stomping on the gas as Max clutches her backpack to her chest, and before Max even has time to look over her shoulder, they’re cruising down the street.

Max is glad, because she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to face Neil again. She’s never liked him, God no, but this is the first time he’s gotten violent_, _and as much as it kills her to admit it, violent Neil is _scary_. Which he shouldn’t be, because Max isn’t a baby and she’s faced much worse than a balding middle aged man who eats Nilla wafers in front of police chases on the TV at night. But still, the phantom weight of Neil’s finger on her chest, the lingering smell of his hot coffee breath as he leans in—

Max exhales, flopping back in her seat and closing her eyes. She has to shake this. At this point, Neil is a fact of life, and Max is gonna have to get used to it. The realization makes her scoff out loud, but even she has to admit that it comes out sounding more like a sob.

“You’re fine, shitbird.” Billy doesn’t even turn to look at her, but his voice is soft, if a little gruff. Max has all but forgotten that there’s someone else in the car, but here is Billy, again, bordering on kindness. She almost wishes he would stop because she doesn’t know what to do with this, and it makes it all so much worse when he’s a jerk again.

Max takes a deep breath. “Your dad,” she says angrily, furious with herself when she hears how young she sounds. “Is an _asshole_.”

Billy just snickers, jerking his hand across the steering wheel as they skid around a corner. “Do you actually think I don’t know that, Max? I grew up with the guy, okay—you’re just lucky he waited so long before starting in on you.”

Max frowns, glancing over at Billy._Starting in on you? _She doesn’t know how to respond to that so she stays quiet, looking out the window and trying to calm down. She can’t help feeling like she owes Billy an apology, a thank you, because for whatever reason, he did kind of save her. From what exactly Max isn’t sure, but she’s definitely grateful to be away from Neil. And Billy could have just watched, could have leaned against the counter with that infuriating smirk, but he stepped in. And Max has no idea why Billy thought she was worth the trouble, because she’s never seen him step in for anyone else, ever. But she can’t say thank you, can’t say anything, because this whole big mess is bringing her dangerously close to tears, and God dammit, Max has cried more in the past month than she probably has in her entire life.

They pull into the Hawkins Middle lot and Max can just barely see Lucas gesturing vividly about something to Will, who’s somehow bent over the water fountain and trying to maintain eye contact with Lucas at the same time. It’s a sight that would usually make Max smile, might prompt speculation about what new sci-fi movie or video game Lucas is undoubtedly nerding about, but suddenly Max is hit with a wave of exhaustion. She’s so tired of this, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to muster up the strength to open the car door.

Because Mike has Nancy, who he constantly complains about but who Max has seen cover for him when he’s been over at Hopper’s with El. Dustin loves his mom so much that the party is constantly teasing him about it, but they all forget about that when she knocks on Dustin’s door beaming, holding out hand-embroidered matching patches for all of their jackets. Max has been to Lucas’s house and heard him kick Erica out of his room countless times, but Max has also sat on his bed flipping through comic books as he explains long division to his little sister, however begrudgingly. Max has seen the pure joy on Jonathan’s face when Will hands him a strangely accurate drawing of his beloved camera, watched Jonathan wrap Will in a hug and carefully lay the sketch in between the pages of a history textbook for safekeeping. And even El, whose entire tragic past Max has heard at least once from every party member—she and Hopper are practically glued to each other. And Max has no one. She’s all alone in her freezing cold house without enough blankets and all she has is a stepbrother who switches moods so quickly it gives her whiplash.

And the worst part, the very worst part of it all, is that with every vague hint of kindness Billy shows her, Max’s desperation builds, no matter how much she tries to ignore it. Because now that she’s seen glimpses of it, Max _wants _someone to care about her. And beyond all reason, even though he _sucks _and is a bully and an asshole who beat up her friend, she thinks she kind of wants it to be Billy.

“3 o’clock, got it?” Billy’s voice makes her turn her head to him, and suddenly he’s tapping a fist against the wheel impatiently, voice hard and posture angry, and it makes Max want to scream. “It’s your fucking fault we’re late so you’d better be grateful I’m still driving you home.”

Max feels her stomach clench in frustratrion, and without a moment’s hesitation she swings her backpack up onto her back and opens the door, sticking her board under her arm. Lucas and Will are no longer in sight—by now everyone has vanished into classrooms—and Max is glad because having to have a civil conversation with anyone, even her best friends, might just send her over the edge.

“You know what, Billy?” Max says, and now her voice is just as steely as his. “Fuck you.”

She doesn’t bother closing the door.

* * *

_Fuck. _

How that little red headed twerp can somehow make him feel _guilty _for saving her from Neil’s wrath, he can’t understand, but it sure as hell pisses him off.

If Billy is being honest with himself, the events of the morning have rattled him. For the first few months Neil had been so determined to keep up the “good stepdad” routine with Max, randomly giving her cash on weekends, always taking her side when she and Billy got into arguments. But apparently he’d given that up (not that Billy can really blame him; Max is pretty much impossible to win over) and decided she no longer warranted the effort. And to be completely honest, Billy isn’t sure how he feels about it.

He’s gotten so settled into that reality, so angrily resigned to Max being the golden child and chauffeuring her around Hawkins and the whole damn state of California before that, putting up with all of her shit because Neil wouldn’t accept anything less. Billy had his world and Max had hers, until Neil got in the way and forced them into a strange sort of alliance that Billy never wanted but also never had a choice about.

_No. _Billy shakes his head and curses under his breath, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the side of his car. He’s going to be late to class, but contrary to what he’d said to Max, it’s not like he really cares. He’ll smooth talk his way out of detention—if he’s done it once, he can do it again. Some of the female teachers at Hawkins high _really _need to get laid, and it makes them a little too susceptible to Billy’s charms. 

No, what’s really weighing on him is this disgusting, sour tug in his stomach. He can’t figure it out, because honestly, nothing should have changed. Sure, Neil got all up in Max’s face this morning, and sure, Billy doesn’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t stepped in, but that’s Max’s problem now, and Billy should just be happy that she’s taking some of the heat and that he’s no longer the only kid on the Neil Hargrove shit list. And part of him is. Part of him feels a flash of violent satisfaction when Neil talks to Max in that menacing tone that still makes Billy stop in his tracks; part of him smirks when Max finally gets what’s coming to her. Why should she get a break when Billy has put up with Neil for his entire fucking life?

Billy takes another drag. He knows all this, hates himself for putting himself between his stepsister and his father because it’s pure weakness, and Billy Hargrove is _not _weak. He has no time for annoying middle school girls who try too hard to be tough, no patience for kids who pretend they aren’t scared when they’re up against Neil with no one on their side. He’s done with that, forgotten about it. Forgotten how he used to lie under his bed cradling the phone to his ear, crying as he dialed his mom’s number over and over again until she stopped picking up…

_No. _He hates himself for remembering, hates himself for being so weak and pathetic, even in memory. He snatches the cigarette out of his mouth and throws it as far as he can, feeling a pang of morbid pleasure at the thought that it might start a fire and burn this shithole town to the ground. He knows it won’t—the sky has been pissing buckets lately and there isn’t enough brush to fuel a campfire. But still. He needs to hate Hawkins more than he hates himself.

Because as much as he hates himself for stepping in when Max is in the line of fire, he hates himself just a little bit more when he does nothing. Or when he overcompensates too harshly and has to see the cautious hope in his sister’s expression turn to fear and disappointment the way it did when he dropped her off this morning.


	6. SadMax and Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But Max can’t help it because her mind is all over the place. She’s so angry at everyone: Neil, her mom, her friends for no particular reason. And she’s angry at herself, because nothing even happened, Neil didn’t even do anything and she’s so embarrassed that it’s affecting her this much, so painfully aware of every pathetic twinge of fear when she thinks about dinner tonight. And then there’s Billy—every time she thinks about that anger her chest tightens and it ends up morphing into sadness, and that Max can’t deal with. She’s MadMax, after all, not SadMax, so she grits her teeth and bites the inside of her cheek until she can focus on her anger again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, 
> 
> Thank you so so much to everyone who has reached out/commented over the last few months asking about this story and continuing to support it. It truly means so much to me and I'm honestly just so happy that people like my imagining of Billy and Max. 
> 
> I know the state of the world is pretty atrocious right now, so I hope you're all doing well. I've been really struggling to write, but thanks to you I'm motivated to work on this story again and there are more chapters coming!
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading my work and I hope you enjoy this chapter! I wanted to post something as soon as possible, even if it is a little short.

Max clutches the straps of her backpack, running her fingers over a loose thread. It’s 3:29, and Billy is nowhere to be seen. 

It’s not the first time he’s late, which is ironic, considering his emphasis on her own punctuality. But despite his threats, Max has to admit that Billy has always shown up, and he’s never been more than ten minutes late. Max can’t help but look back on the morning and think that somehow she’s upset him so much that he isn’t going to pick her up at all today. Billy’s hatred for her seems to have peaked on the very day she needs him most. It feels like a punch in the stomach.

It’s truly been one of the worst days of her life, which to Max is saying something because she’s had a lot of shitty days. But school, which Max actually likes now that she has the party, has been awful. She’s tense and on edge all day, feeling like she might cry in one moment and having to hold herself back from punching Mike in the face when he asks who put the stick up her ass in the next. She snaps at Will when he asks if she’s okay, glares at Dustin with actual animosity when he flashes his exaggerated grin and offers her half his sandwich. And Lucas, poor Lucas—they usually mutter to each other all through English class, making fun of Becky Ellison when she raises her hand before the teacher is done asking his question, but today Max just looks down at her desk, knee bouncing up and down and head reeling with a flood of unwarranted anxiety.

But Max can’t help it because her mind is all over the place. She’s so angry at _everyone_:Neil, her mom, _her friends_for no particular reason. And she’s angry at herself, because nothing even _happened, _Neil didn’t even _do_anything and she’s so embarrassed that it’s affecting her this much, so painfully aware of every pathetic twinge of fear when she thinks about dinner tonight. And then there’s Billy—every time she thinks about _that _anger her chest tightens and it ends up morphing into sadness, and that Max can’t deal with. She’s MadMax, after all, not SadMax, so she grits her teeth and bites the inside of her cheek until she can focus on her anger again. The whole process is frankly exhausting, but Max has been cycling through it continuously and that’s why she has no extra room to accommodate the party’s feelings today.

“Hey, Max.” Max whips around, heart jumping. It’s Steve, backpack casually slung over his shoulder and a satisfied smirk on his face. Of course it’s Steve; he’s the only person who ever messes with her hair. She forces a sarcastic grin. Inside, she’s furious at how easily she’s startled.

“Whoah, what’s up, Mayfield?” Steve’s eyes widen with concern at her reaction and he lifts his hands away in mock surrender. Max rolls her eyes, biting her cheek again to ground herself before speaking.

“What’s a big shot senior like yourself doing bothering an innocent 13 year old girl, Harrington?”

She sees Steve relax at the joke, and although part of her feels relief, another part pangs with resigned disappointment, which she immediately shoves as far back into her brain as she can, because where the _hell _did that come from?

He scoffs. “Yeah, good one Max. I’ve seen the way you wield a bat and I definitely wouldn’t call that innocent.”

“Desperate times,” Max replies vaguely, because now that she’s recovered from her embarrassing cocktail of feelings over Steve’s arrival, she’s starting to worry about Billy again. It’s a long walk back to her house, but she can do it if she has to. It’s just that after the day she’s had, she’d _really _rather not.

“Hey, what are you still doing here? I thought Big Bad Billy had you on a tight schedule.” He glances at his watch. Steve knows about Billy’s 3 o’clock rule, because Max and the boys never stop complaining about its infuriating interference with after school party meetings. Max hates that it’s become such public knowledge, that Billy’s control over her is so widely known among the people whose respect she craves the most.

“Yeah well, he’s not here, is he?” Max snaps and her voice is a little shakier than she likes, especially given that it’s Steve she’s talking to. She’s pissed off and scared and after a long day of wrestling with her feelings, she’s worried they’re starting to slip out. And people might call Steve dumb, but Max thinks he’s one of the most perceptive and sensitive people she knows. If anyone is going to pick up on her stress, it’ll be him.

She’s right, because Steve frowns a little. “Everything okay?”

_No,_Max wants to say. _No, Billy hates me and I don’t know why, but sometimes he’s okay and sometimes he yells at me and even though I know he’s not a nice person, I still want him to like me. My stepdad is fucking crazy and I’m worried he’s going to do something bad, but I don’t know what, and I’m just being dramatic anyway and I hate my house and I hate my family and basically, Steve, I just really don’t want to go home._

But she’s Max and she’ll die before showing weakness, so she swallows and nods. “Yeah, he’s just being a dick. Actually, he’s probably off showing it to some poor girl in your grade.”

Steve seems satisfied with this, raising his eyebrows at her vulgarity but not saying anything. He grunts. “Probably. You should see the way Laurie Maples looks at him when he walks out of the locker room. Apparently she waits outside specifically for him after gym.”

“I _don’t _want to hear about it Steve. That’s disgusting.”

“Hey, you’re the one who brought it up.” He pauses. “It used to be _me _that girls fawned over, you know.” He says it so bitterly that Max has to laugh. Steve makes a dramatic grimace, but he’s obviously laughing too. It’s the first release of tension she’s had all day, and it feels so good that she almost lets her guard down and tells Steve everything. She trusts him deeply—she has since he put himself between her and the demogorgon, between her and Billy. Her heart rate picks up again, and she chews her lip. 

The moment of levity is gone. Steve picks up on her anxiety and looks at her for a moment. Max feels the heat trickling into her cheeks because she hates being analyzed like this, hates being pitied, hates people trying to take care of her. But she’s also frustrated, because how can she hate something and at the same time want it desperately? Her throat is sore with the effort of holding back tears.

“I can give you a ride,” Steve says finally. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Max is already shaking her head, because if she gets in that car, she might cry in front of Steve and that is _not _happening. “No, it’s fine. Billy will show up, and he’ll be mad if I’m not here.”

Steve frowns. “Well if he wants _you _to be here, maybe he should be here too.”

Max blushes, torn between vehement agreement and a strange urge to defend her stepbrother. But ultimately, Max has no fiery retort, and Steve doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere without her. 

“C’mon Max, it’s no big deal. Just tell him you got a ride home from a friend. You live pretty close by, right? I promise I’m a good driver—well, better than you, at least.”

Max smiles weakly, the ball of tears creeping up her throat. Her resolve is breaking, because with every minute that passes, she feels less and less capable of holding it together. She shouldn’t care that Billy’s not coming, (because she has a feeling, knowing Billy, that he really _isn’t _coming) she knows she shouldn’t care, but at this point, after this morning, she also knows that she can’t help it. And Steve is right here, right now, absently twirling his keys and _wouldn’t it be nice to be driven home by someone who doesn’t make her so upset and confused that it makes her nauseous? _She traces her toe over a crack in the pavement. She’s so _sick _of being left alone and abandoned and if Steve is offering to help, why shouldn’t she accept?

She sighs. “Yeah okay. Thanks, Steve. I’ll make it up to you.”

He grins and waves her away. “Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t feel right about leaving someone so _innocent _and _helpless _all alone out here.”

Max rolls her eyes. As she follows Steve to his car, she takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself. _You’re fine, Max. Who fucking needs Billy anyway? He’s a piece of shit and you can handle yourself just fine without him._

At least, that’s what she tells herself as she climbs into the passenger seat of a car that isn’t his.


	7. Headaches and Fist Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s not thinking straight, he knows it, because there are thoughts slamming around in his mind that he doesn’t like. Thoughts like "Max deserves better" and "You’re an asshole" and "Neil is a shitty parent" and even "You deserve better." The last one he pushes away over and over again. He can’t think about it, because it’s accompanied by flashes of a little boy with curly hair who he clings to a phone like a lifeline, of baseball bats and beaches and fists and failures and all sorts of things that seem to have happened to another person, another boy. Because that little boy is gone now, and Billy is all that’s left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> So I'm clearly the absolutely worst because it's been almost four months since the last chapter. Honestly I have no excuses, but I do apologize and really appreciate the people who check in on this story and leave comments and are just generally supportive. I don't how else to say it other than it means a lot. I'm not sure how much longer it's going to be but I'm thinking at least 3 or 4 more chapters. I swear I'll try and speed things up lol. 
> 
> Quick notes: This story to me is really about trauma and I'm trying to do that justice the best I can. I think a lot of coping with trauma is about the struggle of trying not to become the thing that hurt you. In my experience, there's often a tension between wanting other people to suffer the way you did and also wanting to make sure that no one ever will--two things that are obviously contradictory, but such is the nature of it. Of course I only speak for myself, but that's kind of what I'm trying to express with Billy here. It's really complicated, I think, and I'm trying to be as authentic as possible in writing his (and Max's) thoughts, but I just want to say that I'm not trying to romanticize any of it, and I hope it doesn't come across that way. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you all again for reading and commenting and everything else you do! Apologies again for the unforgivably late update. 
> 
> (Also final note I promise Billy and Max will interact again in the next chapter.) :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Billy knows there’ll be hell to pay, but there’s absolutely no way he can face Max right now. 

He has a pounding headache, for one thing—it feels like there’s a brick rattling around inside his skull. He gets these sometimes, but there’s never really anything to be done for them. It eases a little bit when he smokes with the Hawkins stoners at lunchtime, but by last period it’s back with a vengeance. 

And it’s not just his head. Because from the moment his piece of shit father put a hand on her that morning, Billy hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Max. 

It’s not like Neil even hit her. In fact, he probably hadn’t even done anything that a normal parent wouldn’t do, not that Billy really has any point of reference. But the anger behind it—Billy recognizes that anger. Illogical, explosive, dangerous. The same anger that surfaces in his father’s eyes when he puts hands on Billy, only then, he does a lot more damage. 

And as much as Max annoys him, as much as he hates being a full time babysitter and fighting with a stubborn thirteen-year-old all the fucking time—fighting to get her to listen to him because it’s his neck on the line when she doesn’t—he’s starting to realize that the only thing he hates more than Max being defiant is Max being afraid. 

He can’t quite figure out why that is, what exactly it is about the events of the morning that has been making him feel nauseous all day. Why he gives a single shit about the expression on Max’s face when Neil takes a step toward her, the betrayal in her voice when she gets out of the car and tells him to fuck himself. He doesn’t know why he cares, but he does, and that’s exactly what he’s trying to drown out by screaming down the dirt road of small town bumfuck Hawkins Indiana as fast as he possibly can. 

Billy presses his foot down on the gas. It’s already a few minutes past three, but if he turns around right now, he’ll be able to get to Hawkins Middle before Max starts complaining or getting it in her head to tell Neil. He exhales through his nose. Fuck Neil. Fuck Max. She can wait in that parking lot until he’s good and ready to get her. He doesn’t want to see her right now. 

The Camaro is speeding up, and this is what Billy loves about driving. Going so fast that he can barely distinguish one tree from another, so fast that his heartbeat roars in his ears and he can’t hear anything beyond the engine and the rush of the wind. He throws his head back and yells. It’s not like there’s anyone around to hear him, and he wouldn’t even care if there were. He likes being a little dangerous, a little crazy. A little inhuman. He certainly feels that way. Might as well let other people think it. 

The old gate at the end of the road is quickly approaching, so he reluctantly taps the brake and pulls over to a little clearing off to the side. It’s littered with candy bar wrappers and bags of chips, and for some reason it makes him think of Max and her dumb little friends. Shit, Max. He decides he’ll rest for a moment, just a moment—have a cigarette, enjoy the quiet—and then he’ll go get her. He doesn’t want to, but it’ll have to be done. 

Max. He climbs out of the car to lean against the hood and lights a cigarette, taking in the quiet and inhaling the smell of dirt and smoke. His life seems to revolve entirely around her these days. Take Max to the arcade. Make sure Max has dinner. Watch out for her. She’s your responsibility. It’s almost funny, because Billy has never met a kid less in need of looking after than Max. Which is why Billy is certain that his duty as Max’s babysitter/bodyguard/chauffeur comes not from his father’s desire to protect his stepdaughter (from what, anyway? It’s not like Neil likes her) but a fundamental desire to punish his son. 

And Billy wants to hate Max for it. Sometimes, he convinces himself that he does. She should be easy to hate, because Max is so, so, horribly like him. She’s angry and defiant and abrasive. She’s difficult—Billy has heard Neil refer to them both as such—and unforgiving of her mother, rejecting half-hearted attempts at affection the same way Billy does on the rare occasion Neil decides he wants to take a break from being an asshole. No, Susan is nowhere near as bad as Neil, but in Billy’s mind, any woman who willing to tie herself—and her child—to his sorry excuse for a father isn’t exactly Mother of the Year.

Billy knows all this, because part of what makes Max so hard to hate is that he can read her. She thinks she’s mysterious and scary and secretive but really she’s just a thirteen-year-old kid. And to Billy everything about her is laid out perfectly, her feelings neatly labeled and her fears brightly colored and loud. Because she’s laid out a hell of a lot like he is, unfortunately for the both of them. Billy can be smart when he cares enough, and he’s smart enough to see that Max Mayfield is well on her way to becoming another Billy Hargrove. God knows that’s the last thing the world needs. The jury’s still out on whether even one is too many. 

Jesus fucking Christ. Billy grunts and shakes his head, watches the smoke curl away into the chilly air. The cold reminds him of Max in her stupid sweater, stomping into the kitchen with her arms folded and practically daring him to make fun of her. As funny as it always is to watch her fume, Billy wants to go back and kick himself now, because if he hadn’t opened his mouth then maybe she wouldn’t have broken the cup and maybe Neil wouldn’t have—

He clenches his jaw and tosses his cigarette aside. It’s time for him to get it together and get Max home so he can lock himself in his room and drink enough beer to knock him out for the night. Or maybe the week, honestly. He usually tries to ration the cans he keeps in his room—they may be lukewarm but at least they are his and there’s no chance of Neil getting his fucking hands on them—but tonight he’ll let himself have as many as he wants, as many as he needs, to make the sharp pounding in his head smooth into a dull buzz and the nauseating urgency fade into indifference. Honestly, he can’t fucking wait. 

Billy is just about to get back in the car when he hears the rumble of another engine pulling up behind him. He doesn’t turn his head to look—he finds, strangely, that he doesn’t really give a shit about who it might be—and continues staring impassively out at the trees. He lets the moment of surprise pass, lets the adrenaline pound in his head. He hears the sound of wheels grinding against the gravel, a door swinging open, footsteps coming closer and closer—

Out of the corner of his eye, Billy recognizes the intruder—it’s Paul Riker, which Billy only knows because they’re in American history together and the kid is a huge kiss-ass and answers about 90% of the teacher’s questions. Billy doesn’t have a clue what Paul is doing here, and honestly he doesn’t much care. As far as Billy can remember, they’ve never even spoken to each other excluding vague grunts on the basketball court. But as Paul approaches and leans on the car next to him, it’s clear he has a purpose. Billy stifles a groan—really, the last thing he wants to be doing right now is dealing with Paul Riker and his cocky grin.

“Hargrove.” Jesus, there must really be something wrong with him today because Paul’s barely said one word and Billy already wants to knock him into next Wednesday. 

“Get the fuck off my car,” he growls in return. 

Paul turns his head to look at him, and they make eye contact. Billy raises his eyebrows impatiently. He’s good at this, he knows. He enjoys it, relishes in the cold power of indifference in the face of someone else’s purpose. Paul scoffs, but when Billy makes to straighten up and lunge in his direction, Paul shifts his weight from the car to his legs. Billy cracks a smile. He’s already won the upper hand and he hasn’t even had to throw a punch.

There’s a tense silence for a moment, and Billy knows exactly what Paul is doing. He’s been in enough standoffs with his father to recognize someone recovering himself, figuring out how to compensate for the ground he’s just lost. Billy lets him, enjoys watching Paul steel his face into what Billy assumes is supposed to be some sort of threatening glare. And all of a sudden it’s like driving again, the pure intoxication of power flooding Billy’s lungs. This. This is the only time Billy ever feels calm, and even if, in the back of his mind, he doesn’t like how reminiscent his posture is of Neil’s—the forced disdain, slouched shoulders, narrowed eyes—it’s a kind of high, and holy shit does Billy need it.

Paul finally opens his mouth again. “Heard you kissed my girlfriend, Hargrove.”

Billy almost laughs, because it’s so fucking pathetic. Billy’s kissed a lot of girls at Hawkins High over the past few months, and hell if he knows which one is Paul Riker’s girlfriend. And if that girlfriend—whoever she may be—wants to go around with other guys, that’s her business and Paul’s problem. The whole thing is just genuinely so funny, so absolutely idiotic—the fact that Paul thinks he’s asserting some sort of dominance when really all he’s doing is admitting that his girlfriend is bored with him. The fact that he actually seems to think Billy will be afraid of him. Honestly, Billy is starting to have a little fun, because he holds all the power right now. His actions are his and his alone.  
Billy raises an eyebrow, pretends he knows who the fuck he’s supposed to have kissed, and leans in conversationally the way he does when he wants to screw with Max. 

“Did I? That’s funny, Paul, because I don’t think she ever mentioned you.”

Billy can tell he’s hit a nerve. Paul stiffens and Christ this is so fucking easy. 

“Fuck her,” Paul swears under his breath. 

This time Billy does burst out laughing, because Paul is humiliating himself better than Billy ever could. It’s the kind of cruel, mocking laughter he knows all too well, but fuck if it doesn’t feel good to be the one employing it. The world is sharp around him and the sound cuts through the bitter air, and something inside him is twisting and hardened and so gloriously strong. This is Billy in his element, and there’s no room for pussies here.

“Already done.” Billy says coolly, and watches Paul’s face turn red. He has no idea if it’s true or not, if they actually did have sex (although it’s well within the realm of possibility) but it’s the perfect thing to say because Paul’s eyes widen and he throws himself at him. Billy has a sixth sense about these things, can tell exactly when he’s provoked someone to violence, so he’s prepared for Paul’s attack and calmly edges away from him. Paul stumbles, and Billy smirks. It’s a game, this is, the taunts and barbs and the shifting balance of power. It’s a game that Billy always wins, and he’s just about ready to deliver the final blow. 

“Yeah, she tell you about it Paul? She tell you why she wanted to have sex with me but never your sorry ass?”

Billy’s suspicions are confirmed when Paul freezes at the word sex. It’s just a guess—in Billy’s experience, a guy only makes a big deal about kissing when that’s the furthest he’s gone—but it pays off beautifully. Paul swings at him again, and once more Billy sidesteps it, watches Paul’s frustration mount and doubles down on the attack. 

“Don’t worry though, pal, it might be something you can fix. The hair, maybe, or the mustache, although that’s a generous word for it—“

Apparently the mustache is a sore subject because Paul jumps on him, and when Billy shoves him to the ground he gets right back up for another punch. Billy’s not a particularly elegant fighter—he’s sloppy, his punches swing too wide—but it’s never mattered before and it doesn’t now, because almost immediately he has the upper hand. He hits Paul in the face twice, relishing in the spark of pain that explodes across his knuckles when they slam into his cheekbone. Paul cries out and Billy just snickers and aims his fist at Paul’s stomach. 

The world is roaring in Billy’s ears. He’s exhilarated and untouchable and winning, and it’s glorious. There’s no Neil when he’s like this, no Max, no fear or shame or pain, just pure, unadulterated power. 

But he sees Paul pressed against the car door, hunched over and clutching his stomach. And Billy is looming over him with a hand on his chest and suddenly it’s not Paul he’s standing over but Max, Max trying not to let the fear show in her eyes. Suddenly he’s in his kitchen wielding power in the face of someone weaker just to prove he can, riding a high at someone else’s expense. And Billy stops—just for a second—and lets his hand fall from Paul’s chest, takes a small step backwards. He’s never done that before, he doesn’t think. And it really is just one second. 

But in that one second, Paul straightens up and hits him squarely in the jaw. 

It doesn’t hurt, not too much. There’s not much force behind it and it’s more of a desperate swing than a controlled punch, but it’s enough to make his head spin and make him angry again, and Billy wakes back up. He grabs Paul by the shoulders and throws him to the ground, not bothering to say a word as he jerks open the car door and slides in. As he pulls back onto the road, he looks in his rearview mirror, and he can see Paul still lying on the ground. 

Billy is flying down the street again, and all he can think about is Max. Max stumbling backwards, defiance warring with fear on her face. And even though Billy has longed for it, imagined the satisfaction of seeing Neil tower over someone else the way he’s towered over him for so many years, apparently it takes Paul Riker for Billy to realize that he doesn’t actually want it to happen. And yet again, he doesn’t even know why, because why shouldn’t Max have to deal with the same shit he does? It doesn’t make sense. But the fact is that Max’s face won’t get out of his head.

He’s not thinking straight, he knows it, because there are thoughts slamming around in his mind that he doesn’t like. Thoughts like Max deserves better and You’re an asshole and Neil is a shitty parent and even you deserve better. The last one he pushes away over and over again. He can’t think about it, because it’s accompanied by flashes of a little boy with curly hair who he clings to a phone like a lifeline, of baseball bats and beaches and fists and failures and all sorts of things that seem to have happened to another person, another boy. Because that little boy is gone now, and Billy is all that’s left. 

He’s pulling into the Hawkins Middle lot now, scanning frantically for Max. It’s almost four o’clock, and in the back of his mind he knows that there’s no way in hell Max has waited for him for an hour, but he hopes to God he’s wrong because he needs to see her, needs to grab her and shake her and tell her to keep her mouth shut and her eyes down, to stay out of Neil’s way no matter what it takes. But of course, Max is nowhere to be seen. Honestly, Billy has no idea where she’d even have gone—did she walk home? Go to a friend’s house? He doesn’t know. All he can think to do is go home and hope to hell Max is there and Neil isn’t, and that he can get to her before she does something stupid. 

So he backs out of the parking lot, adrenaline still coursing through his veins and pounding in his ears. The Camaro speeds down the street, heading towards the house that Billy hates, the house where he hopes his sister will be safe, if she only does what he tells her to do. If Billy can make Max listen, then Neil will back off, Max won’t cry in the passenger seat of his car, and the little boy with bruises on his ribs will be gone for good. 

Billy stomps down on the gas.


End file.
